A Study in Strawberry Shortcake
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: A young Edogawa Ranpo finds himself in a pastry shop looking to find his next fix.


The streets of Yokohama were damp and muddy from the previous onslaught of rain. A few passerby tilted up their heads up to the sky ever so often, as if trying to ascertain if there would be another barrage of bad weather. A young boy, no older than the beginning of adolescence, scoffed at such nonsense. It was quite evident that the dark tinge to the city's atmosphere would transition into a more lighthearted hue in due time.

Couldn't anyone else see that?

As if he could actually be bothered with such triviality.

Really, there was only one reason why he would be off on his own in a city such as this.

Sweets.

With pockets filled with money and a skip to his step, the young boy ventured to his favorite bakery with the full intent of gorging himself on some well deserved pastries.

The establishment was homely, if a little drab, but the young boy could care less about the décor. If there was one thing that he could rave about for hours, it was the food that was offered in such high quality. Pies, cakes, rolls, and candies…His mouth watered at the thought of such delicacies! Quickly, and with practiced ease, he found himself running and abruptly skidding to a stop behind a few other customers.

For the most part, they were the average everyday people you would find at a shop like this. An old couple who were haggling with the cashier for a more affordable price due to their old age, a student who appeared to be of high social status, and a peculiar gentleman…

The young boy squinted his eyes at the last customer—the man who just happened to come before him. There was just something…something about him that caused the boy to look far more closely than he should have.

For one, the man looked to be homeless—nothing at all like the folk that would usually frequent the bakery. The sweets here were of higher than standard quality and it was located in the better parts of town. His dark black hair looked like it had been hacked to death by a blind barber. The clothes he wore were baggy and wrinkled—it looked like he fished the lime green coat, jeans, and sneakers straight from a dumpster.

The young boy sniffed.

Well…at least he didn't smell like it.

But one question remained: did the man actually have the money to pay for sweets?

There was no sign to indicate that the man had the means to spend…well, anything to be honest. Even the airheaded socialite had the good sense to be as far away from the man as was socially acceptable. The elderly couple had finished their tirade and had begun to shoot the man some filthy looks.

As for the man?

He didn't care.

There was no stiffening of the shoulders or an angry set to his jaw (not that the young boy could see his profile, but it was quite obvious that the stranger was used to this behavior). Instead, the man just hunched over (scoliosis?) and simply gazed at the menu of choices that were conveniently placed behind the counter.

Perhaps the man had enough money after all?

The young boy was sure of it.

And then the socialite left.

If the boy was wrong, and he was quite sure that he wasn't, than this man was simply an eccentric who cared not for fashion or what society deemed acceptable.

"Sir—" the cashier looked the man up and down as if he were sizing up an unsightly cockroach before giving an overly sugary, condescending smile "—what would you like to order?"

In a low, but even voice, the young man said, "A strawberry shortcake, lemon meringue pie, and Earl Grey tea."

If the young boy listened closely enough, he could hear a slight trace of an accent. It sounded very proper and lilting—maybe of UK origin perhaps?

The cashier punched in the order slowly, as if he were trying his best to scare the customer away.

"Sir, you need to pay—"

Maybe this is when the young man finally lost patience because at his words, he fished into his left pocket—here, the cashier winced and looked as if he were about to call the authorities—and held out a wad of bills.

"I do believe that this should be more than sufficient."

"Ah—er—yes. Please, take a seat."

Slowly, the young man turned to his right and began to walk towards one of the small round tables nearest to the counter. As he did so, the young boy managed to get a glimpse of his face.

Young but mature. _Late teens early twenties?_

Baggy eyes and sunken cheeks. _College student or already working?_

No, he must be working. No college student would appear to be so severely malnourished, well paid, and uncaring of his appearance just to buy cakes and tea at a place like this.

What was this man and his many juxtapositions?

And what in the world was his occupation? What could he possibly do that would allow him to look like a slob, yet grant him so much money?

He could be—he could be—

A chill ran down the boy's back.

There was nothing!

He could not get a sense of this man other than the basics—other than the things that were immediately obvious, the very tip of the iceberg, if you will. Surely there was something more, right?

Surely—

"Sir? Would you like anything to order?" The cashier's bored voice drilled through his head, disrupting his train of thought.

"I was going to, but now I don't think I will!"

Ignoring the cashier's look of pure disbelief, the young boy turned around and found himself staring eye to eye with the young man. His eyes were coal black, his haggard appearance emphasizing the bold color far more than it should have. But what was hidden within the depths of those eyes had the young boy practically barreling over and hijacking the seat across from the young man.

Nothing. There was nothing.

For a moment, the two males stared at each other—one in wonder; one calculating, but bored.

"Foreigner, probably from the UK. Working, but not in a traditional sense. Eccentric, but still a creature of habit. Probably not your first time traveling outside of your native country, but most definitely it is your first time visiting Japan." He thought for a moment before adding, "Sweet tooth." _Just like me._

The stranger hummed in reply, but didn't comment on the strange boy's rapid fire statements or the fact that the boy had just crossed so many social boundaries in a matter of seconds.

Really, it was a wonder how the stranger didn't react to such rude things.

"Aren't you going to say anything? I got everything correct, right?"

He would never admit it, but he actually felt nervous and slightly nauseous at the thought that he might have gotten one of his deductions wrong. Goodness, if that was the case…he would give up sweets forever and stick to being annoying!

"In a general sense, you are correct. But most people would have figured that out within minutes of analyzing me or through conversation. Dig a little deeper; tell me something that only you can find."

The young boy, at first, was surprised at the stranger's invitation. However, that didn't last for long. Instead, he felt himself warming in anticipation; his eyes rapidly scrutinized the young man's figure and all the secrets he contained.

Oh my, the little boy thought to himself. An honest to God challenge. To him. Him! There was no way he could just back down from this slight!

But how…?

There was the matter of his job occupation—or lack thereof.

"Fine then…" The young boy mused. "Your clothes are too worn and too generic, almost deliberately so. You don't care that much for your appearance as evidenced by what I said before, but you also have neglected to wearing your socks… Perhaps it was done out of personal preference or of spite…?" He pondered some more.

"Perhaps a hint is in order?"

"No!" And even the little boy was surprised by how vehement—how childish—he sounded. "I can solve this case by myself...thank you very much!"

The man, quite odd and outlandish as he seemed, reacted like what any other adult would have done in this situation.

That is to say, he chuckled.

The little boy's cheeks burned.

"You're well paid, but it's not work that regular people would think of doing. If I had to elaborate, I would say that you're contracted to do something. You work alone, but you have worked with others before—as an overseer, a taskmaster."

The young man's eyes seemed to burrow deep into the boy's soul.

"Your conclusion?"

This was it.

He had to prove himself.

"You're just like me; you're a detective."

The young man nodded, more to himself than to the little boy, but neither noticed.

The challenge had been accepted and subsequently fulfilled.

What now?

What other purpose did the young boy now serve? What to do? Would it be rude to leave now—after he had solved a riddle? He had already barged in on this young man's snack and solitude…

"My condolences, Mr. Edogawa Ranpo."

Ranpo's eyes snapped open; his brilliant green eyes widened in awe and fear.

"How did you—"

"Your parents once worked for me a few years ago. It was a case that didn't take too long."

"Oh." Ranpo never felt so small—so insignificant until now. "You're…" He wracked his brain for a name to match this man. He remembered his parents saying a peculiar name once. "Denueve."

A twitch of the lips.

"But it's not your true name."

"Not at all."

Ranpo felt his lips curl up in an arrogant smirk.

"Then I suppose I'll make it my life's mission to find out your true name!"

Denueve simply smiled and raised his teacup (since when did it get there?) mockingly, as if he were saluting the young prodigy.

"Perhaps you would like some strawberry shortcake first?" Denueve's voice was even, but held a somber tone. "I hear that you were quite partial to it."

Ranpo dug in.

He knew finding out the man's name now would be a venture into folly; it was best that he let the matter settle and continue indulging in what he came for in the first place.

Sweets.


End file.
